Citizen Soldier
by Raven of the Noldor
Summary: In a small town in Georgia, Bucky begins to re-learn what kindness is.


**Alright. I intended to post this a little later, but my Internet connection is really spotty right now, so I can't continue working my way through *_coughbingewatchingcough* _Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. So here, have a story that sets up a universe that will completely ignore everything after the events of _The Winter Soldier._**

**So, it turns out that I completely misinterpreted the song I got the idea for this from, but by the time I realized it, the plot bunny had taken hold. The song is _Citizen Soldier_ by 3 Doors Down. To me, it's about the people who keep things running at home while the soldiers fight, and thus, this story was born. Enjoy!**

_Citizen soldiers holding the light for the ones that we guide from the dark of despair_

_standing on guard for the ones that we sheltered_

_we'll always be ready because we will always be there..._

Citizen Soldier

The small café is empty when he enters, except for the woman briskly wiping down the counter. The Asset – _Bucky, his name is Bucky_, hesitates, uncertainty flooding through him. Maybe this was a mistake.

But he's hungry. Enough scattered memories have returned for him to grasp the concept behind the word. He knows that he needs to eat – _not maintenance, not needles in his arm – _and he thinks he knows what the currency here is worth.

The woman, dark skinned with laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, looks up and smiles warmly. "Welcome to Wilson's Café, young man! What can I get for you?"

He pulls the crumpled bill with the number five and the face of a president, _Lincoln_, his mind supplies, out of his pocket and slides it across the counter. "What can I get for this?" he asks quietly, voice cracking from disuse.

The woman gestures to a board against the wall. "Menu's right there, honey. Just ring the bell when you're ready to order." She smiles again and moves to the back, checking on an oven on her way to a full sink.

The As – _Bucky_, feels panic coil in his stomach. This is part of being human – making choices – but it goes against almost everything he knows. The tiny whispers of a short haired man in neat clothes and shiny shoes tells him that this should be easy. It's ordering a _meal_, for heaven's sake. It's not like he's making a life-or-death decision.

He looks at the menu board carefully, and makes the first choice he sees that he thinks his money is worth. He reaches out to tap the bell, careful to do so with his flesh hand. He doesn't want anyone to see his metal hand.

"You made your choice, honey?" the woman asks, wiping her hands on a towel as she comes back.

The –_Bucky, Bucky, Bucky_, nods hesitantly, and says carefully, "The – the cheeseburger, please." He feels a surge of uncertainty – what if it's the wrong choice?

"That all, hun? You look like you could use a little more then that." Her eyes crinkle with concern.

"It's all I've got," he mumbles, looking down. He doesn't want to see the pity in her eyes.

"I'll tell you what, honey," she says firmly, and he looks up in surprise at her tone. "You sit down, young man, and I'll make you that cheeseburger. And if you're still hungry after that, we'll see if there's anything around here you can do, sound good?"

Bucky nods hesitantly. It sounds fair – he won't be taking anything he can't pay for, and it isn't charity… "Okay." His voice doesn't crack this time. He takes a seat at the counter and watches out of the corner of his eye as the woman bustles away, to fix what he had ordered.

The bell on the door rings, and he whips around, ready to run, fight, who is it, HYDRA, the man on the bridge –

It's a lanky teenager with an armload of boxes. "I've got the napkins you ordered, Granna Evelyn! You want 'em in the back?"

"You know that's where they go, Thomas! Give me a few minutes to finish this here burger and I'll find you something else to do," the woman, Evelyn? says, a smile in her voice.

Th – _Bucky_, watches the interaction curiously. This is familiar, somehow, and it slips away from him. Maybe, if he watches a little longer, maybe he'll remember it.

A basket is placed in front of him, and he is happy he only startles slightly. People don't jump at the slightest thing.

He's pretty sure there's more on this burger than what he ordered, but he's too hungry to protest. There's fries too – and he knows he didn't order those. He has a moment of panic, riffling through his pockets for extra change, and not finding any. "It's on the house," Evelyn tells him with a wink.

So 'on the house' means free? He files the information away for later use, and picks up the burger, biting in. His eyes widen. He can't remember having a burger before, but this is very good.

"Gran makes the best burgers in town," the teen, Thomas supplies. "She won't tell anybody how she does it."

Bucky swallows and looks at him. "No one?"

Thomas shakes his head and flashes an easy grin. "Not even her own family. Eat up, man," he adds, gesturing to the burger. "There's not much Gran enjoys more then seeing people get a good meal."

* * *

When Bucky finishes, he had asked, carefully, "Ma'am, is there any work I can do around here?" Evelyn directed him to help Thomas unload boxes in the back. It feels good, to be doing something like this. To feel his muscles working. He makes sure not to show his metal arm, or draw attention to how much more he can lift with it.

Thomas, if he does notice anything, doesn't mention it, keeping up a stream of talk about the town, and how his immediate and extended family, the Wilsons, almost all help out here in some way or another. "Dad fixes electronics, Uncle Joseph brings in home grown potatoes and other vegetables, and the last time Uncle Sam visited, he cleaned out the range as a surprise for Gran. Then all the cousins and aunts cover for each other and help make food on busy days. It's fun. If you stick around for a couple weeks, when the Fourth of July comes, you'll get to see it in action!"

"Maybe – maybe I will," Bucky answers carefully. He doesn't know if he can – he can't put these people in danger – but he feels like maybe, just maybe, it's safe here in this little Georgia town.

They move the rest of the boxes in silence, and Bucky feels his skin burn a bit. He doesn't have the cap he stole from a thrift store, and it's very sunny out. He runs a hand across the back of his neck to lift his hair from where it's stuck to his neck.

When Bucky comes back into Wilson's Café, Evelyn takes one look at his sunburnt face and bustles to a row of potted plants in the window, breaking off the leaf of an aloe plant and handing it to him. "There's a mirror in the back room so you can see where to put it," she tells him, giving him a gentle push in that direction. "Did he do a good job, Thomas?"

"Yes, Gran. I think he did more than me, honestly."

"More than _I_, Thomas, and maybe he did. I'm gonna make you both some lemonade…" her voice grows fainter as Bucky closes the door to the back room and squints at his reflection.

He doesn't know consciously what to do with the gel oozing from the leaf, but muscle memory takes over and he carefully smoothes the stuff over the sunburn. It's on the back of his neck, and he frowns in regret as he applies it there. His hair will be sticky for days. A faint memory of cool fingers applying the same gel to his face when he was younger comes to mind, and he hurriedly finishes so he can write down the scrap of memory before it flutters away.

Once his notebook has been safely stored, he goes back to the seating area, where Evelyn and Thomas are working together. There's a scent of cooking meat and baking bread in the air. Evelyn doesn't notice him for a moment, as he stays close to the wall, but it doesn't take long before she notices him and waves him over. "Sit down, honey, and make yourself comfortable. I'll bring your lemonade out right away."

"Why – why are you doing this?" He doesn't understand it. If they knew what he had done – why are they helping him? He hasn't really done anything for them.

"Why wouldn't I?" Evelyn asks.

"If you knew what I've done – "

"Honey, that doesn't matter. What matters is whether you learn from it or not." She pats his hand with a smile.

Bucky smiles back.

* * *

It becomes a little routine: every few days, he'll come in, and Evelyn will have him help her out with things that need to be done around the café. It's mostly lifting and moving – grunt work, is that the word? It doesn't matter. It doesn't take much thought, and it really does help out the older woman. After he does those tasks, she'll fix him a good meal, keeping up a steady stream of chatter about what happens in the town, and the antics of her grandchildren.

He doesn't say much and she accepts that. He talks mostly when the café is empty, not wanting to be heard, strangely. It's easier when there aren't people who could be HYDRA, could be looking for him, to turn him back into the Asset, _killwipehimandstartovernonono-_

"Did you serve?"

It's Thomas who asks him that, about a week after their first meeting. They're sitting on the back stoop, sipping lemonade. Evelyn had looked at the two of them, sweaty from working in the hot sun, and told them to sit outside.

"What?"

"You remind me of Uncle Sam, right after he came back." Thomas takes a sip of his drink staring into the distance. "Real quiet, y'know? Always ready. He was a soldier in Afghanistan."

"He was?" Bucky blinks, surprised at his own voice. It's steady, and just a little bit curious. Even though questions are wrong,_ follow orders, obey, the Chair, wipe him and start over_, he doesn't think anyone here will be upset with him for asking questions. The thought makes a little bloom of something form in his chest. "I did," he adds, realizing he hadn't answered the query.

"Yup. He was gone for two years. He doesn't live here now, but he stayed with Gran for a few months before goin' off to D.C. He helps other soldiers now, soldiers who have trouble knowing that they're home and safe. He's gonna come back for the Fourth. Says he's bringin' one of his soldier friends, if we're all good with it." He glances over quickly. "If you want, maybe you could come by an' celebrate with us."

"I don't want to be a bother…" Bucky replies hesitantly. Thomas waves away the thought.

"You couldn't be if you tried! If its pay you're worried about, there's no cost. Just close to half the town celebrating our country."

Bucky finds himself nodding before he can help it. "I… I think that that would be, that would be nice."

"Cool, man. Just let Gran know and she'll tell you where to be."

"Okay."

* * *

On the last day of June (he's better at keeping track of days now, because Evelyn has a calendar in the café), Evelyn has him move a few boxes of plates from her truck to the storage room. On the second to last box, he forgets about the slight lift in the pavement by the door, and trips, the box falling from his hands. He hears the crash of breaking ceramic and his heart skips a beat.

"Good Lord, honey, what in the world-"

"I'm sorry!" he exclaims, taking a step backwards and lifting his hands to protect his ribs. "I'm sorry, I'll pay for it, please don't-"

"Oh honey, it's fine," the woman says kindly, taking his flesh hand in hers. "Don't you worry 'bout those. I've got plenty more, and it's my own fault for not padding them."

The Asset – Bucky glances at her through his hair, not sure if he can believe what he's hearing. He remembers missions, training, breaking something, and the sting of hands slapping his face. The air driven from his lungs by heavy boots. Voices shouting at him in other languages. Angry eyes and voices.

It's too much. He runs.

* * *

He sits on the river bank, huddling against the chill of the evening, and tries to sort his muddled thoughts. He could move on, disappear to the next town. Maybe hide on a boat and go somewhere in Europe.

_Or you could stay_, a strange voice whispers in the back of his head. The part of him that is The Asset warns him against that. _They'll be angry. They'll hurt you. It's not worth it._

But the other side of him, that he doesn't really remember yet, the one that tells him it's okay to stay, murmurs calmly, _you know Evelyn won't be mad. And Thomas wasn't there – she won't tell him if you don't want her too. It's okay. They're like Steve._

Steve. That makes his choice. He doesn't fully remember Steve the way he should – but he knows that if these people are like Steve, then it's okay.

Bucky gets up and retraces his steps towards the café.

* * *

There aren't any lights on when he walks up to the café. He doesn't have a watch, but he knows it's late enough that most places are closed. But he doesn't want to lose the courage he's bolstered.

There's something tucked beneath the leaves of a plant next to the door. When he takes a closer look, he realizes it's a neatly folded piece of paper and a pen.

_To my helper:_

_Don't worry about the plates. You're welcome to come in tomorrow, don't worry about any of it. They were old anyway._

_Evelyn Wilson_

Bucky reads it once, twice, and takes a deep breath. Sitting down, he carefully tears a page from his notebook and begins to write. When he finishes, he hesitates, and then carefully writes his name at the bottom: _Bucky._

* * *

He returns to Wilson's Café the next day, clutching the note in his gloved hand and nerves coiling in his stomach.

Evelyn is outside, sweeping around the outside tables. She looks up as he approaches and waves cheerfully. "Welcome back, honey!"

He holds the note out. "I-I'm not so good with… words… anymore. That-that's for you."

Evelyn takes the paper from him gently. "You want me to read this now?"

Bucky nods quickly. "Yes. Please."

The woman nods and carefully unfolds the paper. Her eyes dart over the writing. The A-Bucky knows exactly what's written there.

_Mrs. Wilson, I'm really sorry about the plates. And I'm sorry I ran off. I've seen a lot of things and I just couldn't… couldn't keep them straight. My head's messed up, but I'd like to keep helping here if you'll let me. Bucky._

Evelyn looks up. "Well, Bucky, I don't see any problem with you continuing to help here, if you're okay with that."

He resists the urge to duck his head and nods. "Yes ma'am."

And so, life returns to the strange, almost normal pattern it's taken on. He meets more of the Wilson clan over the next two days and everyone prepares for the Fourth of July. They don't question his presence, just accept it. A few of them try to draw him into conversation, but not many. And that's okay. He's not really comfortable talking yet.

One of the little girls makes him a bracelet on the third day of July, teaching him how to braid pieces of brightly colored yarn together. She ties it around his right wrist with a bright smile and races off to play with her siblings and cousins.

Bucky stares at the twist of orange, purple, and pink around his wrist. The café is mostly empty, except for Evelyn's son Joseph, and he isn't paying attention to Bucky. Quickly, he rolls up his sleeve a bit and slips his glove off.

The bracelet sits around the metal comfortably, innocently. It looks absolutely bizarre. A clumsily braided bracelet around the wrist of a killing machine.

He decides that he likes it.

* * *

He wakes up early the next morning and thinks instantly, _happy birthday, Steve!_ He frowns thoughtfully. So today is Steve's birthday. Today is the birthday of the man on the bridge. Out of instinct he hums what he remembers of the song. He gets maybe halfway through, and then his humming fades away. Frustration rises and he pitches a rock into the river he camps by. _It's not fair!_ He can't even remember a children's song.

In a huff, he wades into the river, holding his hair up with his metal hand. He cleans himself as best he can and retrieves dry clothes from his backpack. He had managed to scrounge an extra pair of jeans from a thrift store for a few coins, and he's been going without a couple layers to draw just a little less suspicion.

Once he's changed, he spreads the wet clothes over a branch to dry, and sits there for a few minutes, just enjoying the sun on his face. It's warm, but not hot yet, and it feels good. He's built up a little bit of a tan, but he still burns easily, so he tries to stay out of the worst of it when he can.

He glances down at his wrist, and the now rather wet bracelet still tied around it. He has found that as long as he's careful to keep it getting caught between the metal plates, it stays almost perfectly in place.

He gets to his feet and begins making his way towards the café.

* * *

Wilson's Café is the busiest Bucky has ever seen it. There are kids running around, families chatting at tables, and almost every table is full. He steps through the door, looking around, wondering if he'll spot anyone he knows.

"Bucky!" Evelyn waves him over. "How are you, honey? Happy Fourth!"

"I'm good," he answers quietly. "How are you?"

"Just fine, young man. Just fine." She pats his hand and turns to the kitchen. "Virginia! Take Bucky here over to the party, will you, sugar?"

"Yes, Gran!" a teenage girl who looks a lot like Thomas answers. She pulls her gloves off and hangs up her apron, twisting through the people in the kitchen with a dancers grace. "Come on!"

He follows Virginia along the surprisingly busy sidewalks, towards a more residential area. "So, how long have you been in Springton?"

"Not long – a month, maybe?"

"And Gran adopted you." She grins at him. "She does that sometimes. That's the reason the café is so popular, I think. Gran knows pretty much everybody, and everybody likes her, y'know?"

"I think so?" he says carefully, not quite sure where this conversation is going.

The teen turns down a street towards a house surrounded by plants. There are kids playing a game in the middle of the street, and Bucky sees at least three balls being tossed around before Virginia unlatches a gate and gestures him in. "C'mon in. Savannah's pretty excited to see you."

A small girl races across the lawn towards them, her face lit up. "Mr. Bucky!" she exclaims. "Do you still have the bracelet?"

"I do," he assures her, holding up his arm.

"Come on, you've gotta meet everyone! Except for Riley the cat, cause he doesn't like people, but I'm gonna introduce you to everyone else, okay? Great!"

Bucky finds himself dragged all across the lawn, but he likes it, Savannah keeps talking, chattering about school, how she can't wait to be old enough to walk to school by herself, and that "Uncle Sam's coming today! He's bringing a friend too! His friend's name is Sieve. Don't you think that's funny? I thought a sieve is what you put fruit in to wash it!"

After an hour, he finds himself sitting on a chair, talking to Thomas about a sport after Savannah runs off to join the game in the street. People continue to come and go, standing around the grill and keeping an eye on kids.

The gate creaks open, and Thomas jumps to his feet. "Uncle Sam!" he yells, and sprints across the grass.

A dark skinned man with very short hair laughs and gives Thomas a hug. "You grew, kiddo! When did that happen?"

He looks up, and Bucky freezes.

Because he knows him. Not like he knew the man on the bridge. This is the man with the wings. The one he pushed. He needs to run. The Wilsons have been kind, but he tried to kill this man. He'll be angry, and Bucky can't let that happen, not now. He refocuses, and now there's a man beside the man with the wings.

The man on the bridge. Steve.

Th – Bucky pushes himself to his feet, and without planning too, he's standing in front of the two of them.

"Bucky?"

"Hi Steve," He whispers.

He's wrapped in a warm, strong hug. "Bucky…"

Carefully, he brings his own arms up to hug Steve back. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the man with the wings smiling. Tentatively, he leans his head on Steve's shoulder. "Happy birthday, Stevie."

* * *

**So, yeah. I don't know how Bucky ended up in Georgia, but it seems like a good thing he did, yeah? I do have plans to write more in this AU, but it will take a while. Hopefully not too long though!**


End file.
